“No,” Verice said.
Pernard lifted his head, and Verice had to look away from the pity he saw there. “Verice—”
“No,” Verice said, and this time he let the venom show in his voice. “My orders stand.”
“You cannot continue in this manner,” Pernard argued.
“Do not think to presume upon our friendship,” Verice warned.
Pernard went silent.
“As to this assembly,” Verice said, trying to return to a reasonable tone. “How many of the farmers have you managed to gather, and who is likely to give me the most resistance?”
Pernard took the hint. “All of them have gathered, and I fear they are all resistant. They’re a stubborn folk.” He glanced at Verice. “Much like their Lord High Baron.”
Pernard was correct. The gathering with the angry and terrified farmers was as tense and difficult as Verice anticipated. But halfway through the questions and arguments, Verice found himself thinking about her. About the woman in the garden.
Pure humans were rare in his lands, and not permitted within his castle. Did that growling sound mean she was hungry? He frowned at the thought, causing the onion farmer in front of him to sputter and lose track of his speech. Annoyed with himself, Verice used the moment to cut through their protests and order that they take shelter within the town walls.
While Narthing was summarizing the scouting reports in detail, Verice found himself thinking about her again. Pernard was surely generous with food; it was in his friend’s nature. So, why was she hungry? She hadn’t picked the flowers, just sheltered there, singing.
Annoyed with himself, he forced his attention back to Narthing’s words and the damned maps.
Later, while inspecting the town walls and examining the defenses, the flapping of a flag caused to him to blink, and the sight of tumbling gold hair flashed before his eyes.
He growled under his breath, causing the warriors around him to glance around for the source of his irritation. Even more annoyed with himself, Verice walked on.
Finally, the day turning to evening, he stood next to his horse, ready to depart.
“Send reports regularly,” Verice said to Pernard. “Let me know if those farmers give you trouble. If I have to, I will return with more men, and—”
“Not necessary, Lord High Baron,” Pernard said. “On behalf of my district, I offer our thanks for your care and watchfulness.”
“Just see to them all, Pernard,” Verice said. “And have a care for yourself, old friend.”
“I’d remind you that sauce for the goose works for the gander, m’lord,” Pernard said softly. “Have a care yourself.”
Verice nodded, and put his foot in the stirrup. His horse shifted, and he gripped the saddle to mount—
—and caught the scent of roses from the garden.
He settled back to the ground with a thump, startling both horse and the warriors around him.
“M’lord?” Pernard raised an eyebrow as Verice turned.
“Take me to those humans.”
Chapter Two
Warna slapped another swaddling cloth into the tub of hot soapy water. Whatever else, she’d not go back into that garden, no matter how lovely the flowers were. The fear of being discovered was a lesson well learned, she thought as she started scrubbing.
As a child, she’d dreamed of elves and the Kingdom of Valltera, listened to stories about them and their magic. The reality was colder and harsher than she cared to think on. Although Tassinic was filled with more half-elven than anything else, not that she could tell the difference.
Children’s voices rose, reciting their numbers. They were gathered together with their mothers, laughing at silly rhymes. Warna’s fears eased as she scrubbed another cloth. So nice to hear, instead of weeping and tears. So nice to be worrying about laundry, rather than hiding in the forests and listening for the tramp of soldiers.
Warna grimaced as she reached into the hot soapy water and pulled out yet another swaddling cloth. Caring for the children had its pleasant moments, but this was not one of them. Still, it had to be done.
She scrubbed the cloth as clean as she was able, then added it to the rinse water. Lord of Light be thanked, at least they had hot water and soap. Amazing how grateful one was for the basics when you’d lost everything.
Warna glanced around the cobblestoned yard. She’d already covered every available surface with clean laundry, and she still had more to dry. Thankfully, the sun was shining.
She’d fled her home with naught but the clothes she wore. She’d spent months alone, hiding in ditches and the woods. It had only been in the last few weeks that she’d met up with others fleeing the devastation. They hadn’t been certain they’d be welcome in Tassinic, but the people of Anera had offered them such shelter as they had, cleaning out one of the barrack’s barns. They’d bedded them down in the lofts with plenty of straw and blankets.
It was supposed to be a temporary solution, or so it had been explained. But the conflict had followed them, and now Anrea had to see to itself.
The barracks were still filled with warriors, but they were gone most of the day. They’d shelter, food, and the basics, thank the Lord of Light and Lady of Laughter. The children were warm and safe for now. They’d learn their numbers, eat their suppers, and sleep in safety. And dirty yet another load of nappies for her to scrub.
She’d been brought in to this group, all the refugees sheltered together, but she’d had no time to get to know anyone well. The desperate needs of the children and the drive to survive banded them together for a time. There’d been safety in numbers, for both her life and her virtue. Warna shuddered. Others had suffered far more than she.
She slapped another nappy into the water. Her efforts let their mothers see to their children in these precious few moments of peace. If the day ever came that she’d children of her own, she’d teach them their numbers, and see to their tears, and hire someone else to do the wash.
A pang to her heart reminded that the chances of that were gone. It was all gone: her family, her life, her future. Her brothers had all gone off to fight when the High Baron of Farentell had called upon them. Her mother dead of a fever months before that. Father, Grandfather…
Grief washed through her like a wave. Warna closed her eyes for a moment letting tears well, feeling the anguish deep in her bones until it subsided, leaving her empty, tired, and numb.
She wiped away her tears, and forced herself back to dirty cloths, hot water, and soap. Better to not think about that. Better to think about...her song.
Warna started humming as she swirled the cloths through the water. She was still trying to fit roses into the verse, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t get the words quite right.
“Life is sour, life’s unfair,
Death takes us all without a care.
What need then to enjoy the rose?
What need then to…”
She let the tune trail off, trying to puzzle out the next stanza. What would work? What rhymed with rose?
Well, toes, but honestly…
Her rhyming distracted her, made the chore go faster. She’d need to dump the water soon. The few men who had managed to escape with them were working at whatever odd tasks their benefactors needed done. She’d get a few to aid her when the time came.
There was a stir behind her as horsemen entered the yard. She spared a glance over her shoulder to see elven warriors ride in, lofty and stern. They all sat tall and proud in their matching silver armor upon majestic black horses. She turned back to her laundry. The warriors weren’t cruel, but they weren’t exactly friendly. Best to stay out of their way.
That elf in the garden, for example. Warna shivered at the memory. He’d been so big, and so feral, in black leather armor, his sword at his side. His silver-white hair and silver-blue eyes had made him seem like something from one of her children’s books.
His grip on her ankle had been terrifying, and he’d looked so fierce.<
br />
Oh, no. She wasn’t going to sneak back into the garden no matter how large and lovely the flowers were. It wasn’t worth—
A loud, deep voice spoke in elven, directly behind her.
Startled, Warna twisted to find that very warrior glaring down at her. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.
The elven warrior loomed over her, all black leather, silver chain, and swords. “Pardon, I spoke without thought.” His glare didn’t diminish, but his words were stilted, as if he was trying to remember the common tongue. “I asked how you fared.” His frown deepened, and he gestured to the tubs behind her. “Why are you doing that?”
“It needs to be done,” Warna replied without thinking, trying to remember to breathe.
Those silver eyebrows furrowed together as he glanced behind him. More of the warriors were approaching, with human males. “Did you get something to eat?”
Warna cringed at the memory of her growling stomach. “Yes, of course. There’s bread, cheese, eggs, and milk. I just hadn’t eaten. I wanted to spend a few minutes with the—” She cut her words off.
“That is well,” the warrior said. “I was concerned. The noises…” he gestured at her belly
Thoroughly mortified, she dropped her gaze. “Thank you.”
“Did you finish it?” he asked abruptly.
“Finish what?” she was confused by the question. “Finish my breakfast?”
“Your song,” he dropped his voice, asking quietly.
Warna lifted her gaze then, looking to see if she was being mocked. But his expression was open, his eyes seemed sincere. “No,” she said slowly, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind one ear. “I can hear it in my head, but I can’t find the words. It’s…”
“Frustrating,” he said.
She nodded.
He glanced around, his frown returning. “Who sees to you?”
“What?” She frowned back at him.
“Where are your kin?” he demanded.
Warna froze. Her throat closed and the pain just swelled in her heart.
“Where are your protectors?” The elf demanded, as if repeating the question would make her understand.
Grief gave way to fury. Warna turned her back on him, picked up a soiled swaddling cloth, slapped it into the tub, and started to scrub. “My lord, might I ask what business is that of yours?”
“What?” The elf came around to stare at her, his voice as cold and hard as his eyes.
Behind her came the tramp of boots, the sounds of warriors and the human males gathering. “Lord High Baron Verice,” one of them stammered, and they all started talking.
Warna sucked in a breath, and kept her head down, eyes on her task. Of course, the lord of the land, a High Baron. Warna dropped the cloth into the tub, and swallowed hard. She was so damned tired, the pain his words had caused still sat in her throat, and come to find out she’d insulted a high baron. All she’d meant to do was steal a few moments in the flowers.
Somewhere, the Lady of Laughter was surely mocking her.
She glanced around. The Lord High Baron stood there, arms crossed over his chest, looking forbidding and angry. Everyone around him seemed to be talking at once, in both elven and common tongue.
She shuddered. She’d made this mess. It would be up to her to bear the consequences and see it right. Quickly, before she lost what she had left of her nerve.
She dried her hands on her skirt, slipped through the crowd, and knelt before the elf. With any luck he’d just lop off her fool head and be done with it.
The men around her stepped away, leaving her in a space and on her own. The babble mounted, but the Lord High Baron’s hard voice cut through it all. “Get off your knees, woman.”
Warna wasn’t that stupid. “I offered insult out of ignorance, Lord High Baron. I beg forgiveness.”
“Insult?” one of the men’s voices squeaked. “She insulted him?”
“Stand up,” Verice ordered.
The babbling escalated.
Warna studied the boots of everyone who was standing around her. She stared at the shiny black leather boots of the elf she’d offended. She’d hate to die without finishing her song. Maybe flower would work instead of rose. Flower, bower, power, shower. Cherish every hour?
A long thin hand appeared in front of her face, open and demanding. “Off your knees,” the High Baron commanded impatiently.
Warna lifted her head. He towered over her, glaring down. Harsh. Arrogant. Elven to the core.
Not much else she could do in the face of his anger. She obeyed.
“Silence,” Lord Verice ordered as she rose to her feet. His command cut through the talk around them. “Who are her kin? Her family?”
An older human spoke up. “Warna? She’s got none.”
“Warna.” The Lord High Baron’s eyes flickered over her, and left Warna cold. She lowered her gaze respectfully, her hands clenched in her skirts. She’d drawn his attention, and she swallowed hard against her growing fear.
“Warna is under my protection now,” Verice stated firmly.
Warna stopped breathing. The implications of that were frightening. The Lord High Baron’s men were exchanging glances that seemed at once confused, and resigned.
“You are all under my protection,” Verice continued. “Now, about your concerns…”
The storm of protest shifted to fears as everyone started talking at once.
All Warna could make out was the roar of her heart, cold in her chest.
It wasn’t the first time someone had expressed such an interest in her, and she was capable of dealing with unwanted attentions easily. But this elf had power and authority over them all, and he was not to be denied. She darted a glance around the crowd and caught the eye of one of the older women.
She jerked her head to the edge of the crowd. Relief flooded through Warna. The men might see her as a bargaining chip, but the women would help her.
Warna eased a step back, letting a man squeeze into her spot. They were crowding around the Lord, all talking at once. She kept her eyes down, trying to become invisible. No one seemed to notice.
One of the women tucked a kerchief into her hand. Warna ducked her head, and donned it. She’d be less noticeable with her hair covered. She slipped around one man, and then another, working her way to the edge of the crowd. She kept moving, keeping her head down. If she could get to the barn, she could hide in the hay lofts, burrowed down into the straw. With any luck, the Lord High Baron would—
She thumped against someone, who stepped directly into her path. She looked up.
Lord High Baron Verice was standing there, a grim scowl on his face. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in tight.
She sucked in a breath, surprised at the feel of his body against hers. She brought her hands up on his chest, trying to push him away.
He leaned in, his face close to hers, his silver-blue eyes bright. “Sleep,” he whispered, his voice seeming to echo in her mind and ears.
The exhaustion caught her in mid-breath, and pulled her into oblivion.
Captain Narthing watched in horror as Lord Verice kidnaped the human woman, using his magic to render her helpless. Verice swung the unconscious woman into his arms, and arrogantly faced the humans before him.
“Ancestors above us,” Narthing breathed as he gripped his sword. For all that the humans were elder males and females, they could still attack Lord Verice if they had such a mind. “I’ve never seen him do anything like this.”
Pernard stood next to him. “Have you ever known Lord Verice to act without honor?”
Narthing didn’t take his gaze off the crowd. “No, Lord Pernard, but what is he thinking?”
Pernard shook his head. “I’m not sure he is,” the older elf said softly.
“You are now under my direct authority and protection,” Lord Verice radiated power as he addressed the crowd. “Farentell has fallen, its High Baron killed by the Usurper. You are welcome here, if you are wi
lling to swear fealty to me as your High Baron. Or, if you wish, free to journey on with our aid and blessing. Discuss it amongst yourselves, and then apply to Pernard with your decision.”
“Is there anyone who lays claim to this woman?” Lord Verice continued, his tone daring anyone to contradict him.
Narthing held his breath.
No one did.
“You will excuse me. I must be about the business of the land.” With that, Lord Verice spun on his heel and headed toward the waiting horses, the woman still in his arms.
Chapter Three
Warna awoke slowly as the mists of sleep left her mind.
Horseback. She was on horseback, cradled in someone’s arms, her head on his shoulder. Her skin felt tingly, an uncomfortable sensation that was fading quickly. She stayed limp, her eyes closed.
Where was she?
The sounds around her were of warriors dismounting, muted voices combined with the ringing of horses’s hooves on stone.
“Narthing,” a voice rumbled in her ear. “assist me, if you would.”
The High Baron, it had to be. Panic flooded through her. He’d used magic on her; what other ways did he have to enslave a soul? She jerked up, out of his arms, and half-fell, half-slid to the ground. Verice cursed above her as his horse shied.
One look showed her a courtyard, buildings of smooth white marble, and across the way, an open door. She didn’t know where she was, didn’t recognize a building or a face, but that doorway called to her. A place to hide, with any luck at all.
“Lord of Light, aid me,” Warna prayed as she ran.
Shouts rose behind her as she darted through the door. It was dark and cool within. She could make out a long, carpeted hall, and stairs.
Up. She fled up, running for all she was worth. Fleeing soldiers and slavers in the past had given her strength she hadn’t known she’d possessed, as well as an instinct for survival. She’d not lasted this long to be just to be taken so easily. It was better to die.
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